Come With Me
by theheartofadetective
Summary: There was something peculiar with him though. As much as he was short with her and seemed to not like her, she always saw him staring at her. She could only assume it was with a detested eye. She was wrong though. Victorian AU


Molly Hooper had not minded so much being a servant. She was alright with being ordered around and she was often quiet so it worked out well for her. Although the place was not hers in any way, she found the estate she resided in to take care of its masters beautiful.

She learned quickly that she did not count. The other servants, especially the women, made that clear to her that she should never assume that what she thinks matters, or what she wants to say. Not that she would ever speak when she was not supposed to, but they tried to tell her out of warning. Most of them were older and bitter, but they saw it as a way of protecting her from being hurt. They thought it might hurt her less than her going around thinking that she did and finding out later and feeling alone, as some of the others experienced.

She wanted to be loved and she only read in books about people that fell in love, but she was often told that she was too plain. So without looks or status, she would not ever find what she wished.

Sometimes it was hard being a servant. Lady Holmes was not always the most tolerable to deal with, but Molly had learned quickly how to be with her. You did what you were told and you did it right away. The oldest son, Mycroft was another one. He ordered her around simply to order her around. He'd grab whatever was around, an umbrella, a cane, and wave it in the direction of the task he made her do, which was quite irritating.

Lord Holmes was probably the kindest to all of his servants. Although they were working for him, living under his roof and following his rules, he understood the loyalty they had for them, and how things were done much quicker and more effectively when he was kind to them. He held them with high respect even being below him.

Though there was another man that she could not describe in words- Sherlock Holmes. She in no way liked him. He was always ordering her around and being short with her. She always did as he asked, but he would pick out some minute detail that the perfect servant wouldn't be able to pick out.

There was something peculiar with him though. As much as he was short with her and seemed to not like her, she always saw him staring at her. She could only assume it was with a detested eye.

She was wrong though; Sherlock stared at her because he noticed her. He noticed many things no one else did. It was why he was so awful to his brother. He hated the way Mycroft treated Molly, so in turn, he was rude to him.

Although he made her do a lot for him and often picked up details that she missed, he would not treat her badly. She deserved to be treated better than Mycroft treated her. She was more than a servant girl even though that's what she was seen as.

It was traditional for Sherlock to have a male servant helping him, but he usually requested Molly to take care of many of his tasks; even things that he could do on his own.

She never noticed the way his eyes softened when she turned her back to him, and his desire to reach out to her. He only wished that Molly could understand that it was because of the hardness of most of his family that he did not know how to express his feelings. So, out of frustration of this, he was short with her.

Though one day he grew tired of this game he was playing with Molly, especially when he noticed her showing her true irritation more than she ever had, but still while trying to hide it from him.

After telling her she had not done something properly, he watched her turn away from him. Her hands were balled into fists at her sides and he could hear her soft breathing heavy in the quiet room.

She was tired of his remarks. He was beautiful, brilliant, but he infuriated her at times with his arrogance and pride in his intelligent mind.

"Molly," he said to her.

She turned around to look at him, trying to keep total composure. "Sir," she replied, her eyes looking down to the floor.

"Sherlock," he said immediately, causing her to look up at him. "When no one else is around you will-" he interrupted himself, thinking for a moment as he changed his words. "You _can_ call me Sherlock."

Her eyes seemed less angry now as she met his, looking confused as her hands relaxed at her sides. She nodded and then turned around to continue with her duties.

"Molly," he said again as he walked closer toward her.

When she turned around, she gasped, startled by his closeness. Sherlock had never been this close in proximity before. "Y – yes?" she asked.

As he moved closer toward her, she moved backward toward the wall. She let him force her in that direction and she stared up at him in wonder. "You should tell me when I'm being an unrightful arse," he told her as her back gently pressed against the wall. The only thing Sherlock could do was get closer to her now. His hands rested on her arms, pressing them to the wall.

"B – but," she tried to say as her eyes dilated, "I would never speak out of turn."

He smirked as she did not deny his truthful statement. "I know," he replied to her, "you are always so good, Ms Hooper," he said, cupping her cheek now, his lips close to hers. "But you should." His voice was almost a whisper now, his deep baritone in her ears as she shivered against him.

Her gaze kept moving to stare at his lips and he smiled as he waited, watching her squirm under him. His other hand moved down to her wrist, her pulse racing. Molly inwardly gasped as she whispered to him, sharing the same breath.

"You _are_ an arrogant arse," she bit her lip as she admitted quietly, wanting to take the words back. They were true though, and he asked for honesty. "You are infuriating," she admitted now. "At times," she corrected herself, seeming to think about it. Maybe he wasn't horrible as often as she accused him of being.

She let out a small whine, not realising she did so as she wished he would close the distance.

"Do you know why I request you do so much for me?" he asked her as he let his lips graze against hers for only a second, pulling away before there was any opportunity to deepen the kiss. Another whine elicited from her throat.

"N-no," she answered.

"Because I like to be in your presence," he admitted, his eyes softening as his thumb brushed along her cheekbone.

Her fingers gently stroked against the soft fabric of the lapels of his jacket as she wondered what he meant. She tried not to think it was what she wanted, not wanting to get her hopes up. Maybe he was bored as he usually will do anything to prevent that.

She felt odd though, being free to move and speak as she wished, and tried to adjust. "But – you always say I am doing things wrong, and that I miss detail."

"Quite the opposite," he continued as her sentence trailed. "You do not always. I just…" he trailed, but let the sentence hang. Molly felt odd as she started to understand what he meant, her fingers stilling against his jacket.

"I notice you, Ms Hooper, and I hear you talk to the other maids about your wish, and your complaints about me." A small smile flickered across her face from the first part of her sentence, but it faded as a deep scarlet blush appeared on her cheeks at the latter.

"I – I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have-" but his finger rested against her lips, silencing her.

"I see the way you look at me, although your words speak otherwise," he said as his hand moved from her wrist to grip her waist. He was but only a whisper again: "I also hear them tell you that because you are a servant that you do not count."

His expression looked sad now as he grazed his finger along her jaw. Her eyes darted to watch his moving hand. "Because I don't," she sounded as if they had defeated her, beat her dream down.

He hated the conquered look on her face, the morose aura that encompassed her when the words left her lips. He let his forehead drift down to hers. "Molly, look at me," he demanded gently, his words softer than she had ever heard them.

Her eyes only closed momentarily enjoying the new closeness he had created, comforted by his head resting against hers. When her eyes opened again, she met his icy pools, but only a rim of blue encircled a blown black pupil. "I see you," he began, "even when others do not. Don't think what you hear from them; you _do_ count."

Molly's breath caught as a lump rose in her throat. Her eyes were covered with a layer of moisture as she stared at him, unable to find words worthy of a reply for ones she had longed to hear. "I…" she trailed off.

"Yes," he said as he nodded with sincerity in his eyes. It was the confirmation she needed to move her lips to meet his as she wrapped her arms around her neck. A tear fell down her cheek as she kissed him passionately, her fingers finding their way into his hair.

His other hand came down so both were gripping her waist, pulling her closer to him as he nipped at her lower lip. His tongued snaked her lips apart, making Molly groan as their tongues met, letting him intake it. She tugged at his hair as he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist as she pressed her hips into his.

When he let her body rest between him and the wall again, they broke their mouths apart, panting as her hands dropped to cup his face. He leaned to one side, his eyes closing as he let himself give in to her soft touch. "I have said unkind things to you," he murmured before tilting his head to kiss her palm.

"And I forgave you the second they left your lips," she said more confidently in these words than she had ever spoken to him. He smiled as they were only quiet for another moment, her fingers moving down to trace along his jaw. "I always find myself flustered because of you," she said with a light laugh, her thumb moving to trace over his lip. "And minutes later I forget that I was cross."

Her hands pressed against the back of his neck, pulling his lips back down to hers as she kissed him soundly. Sherlock saw a confidence in Molly that she had never shown before. He knew that it was there, but never had an idea as to how to get her to show her true side. She made herself seem so meek, so mousy, but she was much stronger than that. It made him only more confident that she was only one to make him feel this way. He had never had interest in any woman until Molly came to the Holmes estate.

Sherlock set her down onto flat feet, but kept her pressed against the wall, giving her gentle kisses as his hands found comfortable position in the small of her back.

"My brother will inherit this estate," he told her, pressing a loose lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb tracing along the edge of her ear. "And I wish to go to London."

Molly seemed to deflate at this, even as his hand rested against the side of her neck comfortingly. Her ears still gave full attention, but she could not make eye contact with him at his words. She was faithful to the Holmes' estate, and Sherlock knew she would stay here even after a change in head of house. She only wondered why he had told her all that he did knowing that he had intentions of leaving. She felt a constriction in her chest, but Sherlock saw the change in her façade immediately.

"Molly Hooper," he said, silently pleading her to look up at him. She bit her lip as she did, a confused look on her face.

"I've seen the pathology books," he told her. "I know you would become a pathologist if you thought that you had the chance."

A scarlet flooded up to her cheeks as she realised that he had to have been sneaking about her room to figure it out as that was where she kept her books.

"This is why I've sent in your application to Saint Bartholomew's medical school."

Molly gasped and her eyes went wide, her body stilling in disbelief as she looked at him. She had always dreamed of this but never thought she would be considered as an applicant. Sherlock had a smirk on his face, content with the reaction he had gotten from his action, and was patient as he waited for her response.

It was then that she realised that it was rude of her to not have thanked him yet, but she found herself still too shocked by his kindness for proper ones. "I…" she stared. "Thank you, I don't-"

"You will get in, no doubt," he said with a wave of his hand in dismissal, confidence in his voice. "But I've a request of you."

Molly nodded, awaiting his reply. Surely after what he's done for her, she could never refuse him anything. Though, Sherlock's confidence seemed to deflate as he tried to find words. He separated himself from her, pacing slowly a few feet in front of her. She watched as he sweeped back and forth.

"I have been exchanging letters with detective Lestrade at Scotland Yard, and he has agreed to have me shadow as a consulting detective. If I prove my worth, he will have me work by his side," he said, a smirk lighting his face, "but only the interesting cases."

"Though my request is that you come to London with me…" he said, trailing off, and Molly knew by his voice that he had not finished his thought, so she tried to wait, impatient as she was.

"If you will be my wife."

He had expected the meek girl to be taken aback by his request, but she took it with stride; she looked confident. "Yes," she said quietly, but excitement within her voice, causing Sherlock to look up at her finally.

They exchanged a glance for only a moment before she was to him again, her arms wrapping around his neck as she pulled him down to her. He buried his nose within her hair as his temple nudged hers, his arms tightening their embrace together.

Her cheek rested against his now, her light breath on her ear as she spoke after their intimate silence.

"Won't I be the ruin of you? Marrying a servant girl?" she questioned, feeling heaviness within her chest.

"I should think I would be more ruined if you had said no."


End file.
